


Body Party

by foxxcub



Category: Magic Mike (Movies), Magic Mike XXL (2015)
Genre: Dominance, F/M, Submission, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 15:15:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5421791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxxcub/pseuds/foxxcub
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Mike knows is when Rome texts him, she always has his full attention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Body Party

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marina/gifts).



> Happy Holidays, marina! I had an absolute blast writing this (and googling/creating a rather embarrassing playlist of stripper songs along the way, um). My personal headcanon is that Rome can--and has--domed the hell out of Mike, who lives for it. I hope you agree!
> 
> Many thanks to my faithful Tamsyn for the beta. <3

They’ve never officially discussed their schedule. The texts come sporadically, every few weeks or months, at any given time of day. Mike’ll be on the road driving through the Keys on a delivery, or having lunch with his new carpenter, Javier, or in bed at fucking three o’clock in the morning. The time is irrelevant.

All Mike knows is when Rome texts him, she always has his full attention.

It’s not immediate, by any means. She runs a business, she knows how things are. There’s no logistical way for him to duck out when he’s meeting with a potential client, or park at the side of the road when he’s on Highway 1. No, Rome is pragmatic and always has been. Which is why she helpfully sends a time.

_11:45 tonight. Did you follow my instructions from last time?_

He hasn’t heard from her in two months. He doubts it’s intentional. She’d mentioned something about contractors showing up to do expansion work on Domine, and Mike knows how shit like that can get way out of hand if you’re not careful. Remodeling is the worst.

He leans against his fridge and runs his thumb over his phone screen. It’s a Saturday morning, and he’s got a fairly light day ahead of him, just a few jobs he’s finishing up before the Labor Day weekend. Unfortunately it means he’ll be thinking about tonight all day, which can be a blessing and a curse. Sometimes he’s too fucking distracted to be productive; other times he’s focused as hell. 

_Did you follow my instructions from last time?_

Mike ghosts a hand over the front of his jeans. _You know I did_ , he types back.

 _Good Mike_ , comes the reply a few minutes later. _You always make mama proud._

He smiles and takes a deep breath. His instant boner isn’t going to do him any good, so he might as well throw himself into some hard labor. Rules are rules, after all.

Rome is pretty insistent.

~

It was like this in the beginning, too, years and years ago, when Mike had been a kid and Rome was something of a fledgling superhero, just learning her own powers. Mike had been learning, too, and for whatever reason, Rome had taken one look at him and decided she’d like to teach him a thing or two.

Dallas had gotten him to do a lot of shit he regretted, but with Rome, it was never about regret. And the one thing he remembered, more than anything, was the way she’d made control seem like a fuzzy, abstract concept, something Mike didn’t really _need_. She’d ask him, each time, _Are you okay with me in the driver’s seat tonight, Mikey?_

Mike always said yes. 

After Rome, no one thought to ask him. He’d tried once with Brooke, when he was tipsy after a little too much wine. She’d stared at him blankly and said, “You want me to _what?_ Is this a stripper thing?” He’d laughed it off and told her to forget it, and they’d fucked on the patio chaise lounge like he’d never said a word.

Leave it to Rome to remember all of Mike’s kinks. 

After Myrtle Beach, they’d gone their separate ways, and Mike had figured it would be another eight years before he laid eyes on Rome again. It hurt a little, but he was used to it. Then a week later, she’d texted him: _Get on FaceTime, Mikey._

He’d been embarrassed at how quickly he’d fumbled for her number. Rome’s face had appeared, lovely and makeup-free. She’d been lying in bed.

“Hey,” Mike had said, grinning like a freak.

“Hey, yourself. Are you busy? Do you have company?”

“Sam Adams is sitting beside me, but other than that…”

She’d smiled with slow, feline amusement. Mike went hard in about three seconds. “I need your professional opinion, if you’ve got a minute.”

Mike raised an eyebrow as he flopped down on his couch. “Didn’t know you were interested in the furniture business.”

“Sorry to disappoint. This one’s more artistic.”

“Is it?”

“You always had good taste. Not all my guys have that, unfortunately.” His phone had pinged with a text containing a link to a Youtube video. It was a song: Ne-Yo’s “She Knows”.

Mike had laughed. “I’m old, okay, I have no idea what’s cool. You know Malik picked all that shit out.”

Rome had hummed thoughtfully. “I’m not asking your opinion on the song. I’m asking for...choreography suggestions.”

Things had quickly clicked into place. “You want to see me dance to it,” Mike said.

“I’ve got a new white kid who just started. He’s very Mike circa 2006. I think he’d fit nicely with it, but I figured I’d go straight to the original source and see if my theory’s correct.” Her smile turned positively shit-eating. “You up for it? Need a listen through?”

“Do I look like a fucking rookie?” Mike said, although he hadn’t danced cold since that night at Domine. But he was always inspired around Rome. 

It was a little awkward at first, given that he was performing for a small iPhone screen in his bedroom. But he propped the phone up on his dresser and pulled the song up on his laptop, playing it through his speaker system. It had a good beat, an easy bass line. Sliding into movements he knew like the back of his hand was second nature. 

He’d gotten down to his boxers by the time the song ended, on his knees at the end of his bed. Rome had watched him almost serenely, her Mona Lisa smile barely twitching, even when he threw in moves he knew were some of her favorites. 

It was pretty damn obvious he was hard, but that wasn’t anything new, not with Rome watching him. He’d grinned and said, rather breathlessly, “I hope little baby Mike can keep up,” and reached for his shirt.

Rome said, “I didn’t tell you to get dressed, did I?”

Mike froze. His heart kicked it up a notch. “Did you...have something else—”

“You’re not finished yet. I’d like the full show.”

 _Fuck_ , he hadn’t heard that tone of voice in—well, years. It triggered something in him, dark and molten hot, turning his thoughts to snow. His dick twitched painfully.

“...Full show?” he asked, swallowing hard.

“Yes. Replay the song, if you like. Your choice.” She said _your choice_ like he actually had one. 

His hand only shook a little as he clicked _play_ on his laptop. The song queued up again, and after a few seconds Mike rolled his hips, sliding his boxers down his thighs. His dick bounced free.

Rome barely blinked. 

It took five strokes. Five long, grinding strokes with his dry hand and Rome never breathing a word. He yelled as he came, come spurting everywhere like he was a fucking teenager. When Mike finally opened his eyes, the song was over, and Rome beamed like a proud parent.

“That was so good, Mike,” she whispered. “You do know how to put on a lovely show. You’re exceptional.”

Mike shuddered, hand still wrapped around his cock.

“Beautiful, lovely boy. Will you do that again for me sometime?”

Mike wanted to crawl through the phone and lie at her feet. “Y-yes,” he croaked. His voice felt like he hadn’t spoken in a decade.

“I hoped you’d say that. I’ll text you again next week. And I’m sure baby Mike will do just fine.” She blew him a kiss. “Now, go get some sleep. You’ve out done yourself tonight.” 

Mike’s phone went dark.

~

True to her word, Rome had texted him the following week.

_Facetime? Let’s do nine._

Mike called her at 8:58.

She had another song for him, Rhianna’s “Pour It Up”. Mike actually knew this one, since Tito was weirdly obsessed with it. “Baby Mike is working out well, I guess?”

“He’s no Malik, but he satisfies my sorority girl nights. We’ve started calling him Thor.”

Mike snorted and scratched absently over his stomach. He’d already ditched his shirt; no point wasting time. “So...are you asking for my ‘professional opinion’ again?” 

“Not tonight. I had other ideas.” Rome had paused, ran her tongue slowly over her lower lip. “Would you like to hear my ideas, Mike?” 

_The voice._ Like a switch being flipped, Mike’s entire body had tuned in, every fiber poised and ready. “Yes, ma’am,” he said softly.

“Wonderful. Play this song and take off all your clothes. Then get on the couch. Let me see everything.” Her tone didn’t change, but the command was there in every syllable. Mike grit his teeth and shivered as if she’d physically touched him.

He put the music on while simultaneously wiggling out of his jeans and boxers before crawling onto the couch, legs spread. Without thinking he reached for his cock, but Rome clucked her tongue.

“So eager, aren’t we? Where’s the fun in that?” She’d dragged her gaze over him as Mike held the phone up with a shaking hand. “I’d like to know if your nipples are still sensitive. Do you still touch them when you jerk off?”

“Yeah,” Mike had gasped. His hands were still at his sides, because she hadn’t given him permission to touch. 

“Pinch both of them. Hard. And let me hear you. I want to know just how good you feel, baby.”

Mike had moaned so loud he later worried his neighbors might’ve called the cops. 

It went on like that for what felt like hours, Rome directing him into every touch but never toward his dick. He’d vaguely been aware of his whimpered begging, mindless words just shy of forming sentences. His balls had never felt so heavy and full, like they’d burst at the slightest touch. But he did as he was told. He was good.

Finally, Rome had sighed with what sounded like contented longing and said, “I want you to come now, Mike.”

He did so without even grazing his dick. He felt come hit him all the way up on his neck.

“Thank you,” he breathed, and melted into the couch. 

He’d heard Rome say, “Goodnight, beautiful boy,” before he’d passed out cold, drained of any strength or mental capacity to clean himself up.

~

For the next several months, Rome would text him a time, send him a song, and Mike would...put on a show.

Then one night, after he’d come with two fingers in his ass to “Often” by The Weeknd, she’d hummed happily and said, “Baby, I have something I’d like for you to try. Just for me.”

Strung out and so floaty he could barely speak, Mike had managed to slur, “Okay.”

“I want you to only touch yourself once a week until the next time I text you. Can you do that, sweet boy? It would make me very happy. And I think you’ll be very happy, too.”

All Mike had heard was _it would make me happy_ and that was enough. “Yes, ma’am. I...can do that.” 

It wasn’t until the following day while Mike had been standing in the shower and lazily palming his dick that the true meaning of Rome’s request hit home. 

“Fuck,” Mike had yelled out loud, and slammed both hands against the shower wall.

~

At 11:44 he paces the living room and tries not to stare at his phone. He’s been on edge all day, but he’s also gotten pretty good over the last few months at calming down, telling himself it’ll all be worth it when Rome calls. He hasn’t been this fucking horny in close to twenty years, give or take. Maybe he’s not as old as he thinks. 

Right on time, his phone lights up. Rome smiles at him, looking particularly smug. “Evening, big guy.”

He can’t help but smile back. “Hi. How’s the remodel?”

“Hell on earth, but you probably knew that.”

“Contractors are kind of the worst, yes.” He fidgets with the brim of his hat as his palms start to sweat. “So...what else is new?”

Rome purses her lips, then laughs, low and throaty. “You really did follow my instructions, didn’t you? I should never have doubted you.”

“I did my best,” Mike says, and it comes out a little more breathless than he intends. “Good thing I’ve been fucking swamped for the last few weeks.”

“Idle hands, etc.” Rome tilts her head to one side. “I do have a new request, though.”

He swallows. “A new song?”

“Well, yes, but there’s something else. Go to your front door.”

He pauses for a second. No, Rome doesn’t play games like that. If she’d sent someone to...join him, she’d have said so. Even so, he goes to the door with caution, wondering what the hell he’s in for.

Mike opens it slowly to find Rome standing on his front stoop like she belongs there.

“Holy shit!” he yells before sweeping her up into a giant bear hug. “What is this?”

“The remodel shut down the club for a couple days. I decided I needed to see Miami.” Mike finally puts her down and takes a good look at her. She’s dressed like she came straight from Domine: black tailored suit and high heels. He starts to ask if she drove or flew, but the next thing he knows she’s gently pushing him back into the house with one hand on his chest.

“I’ll answer all your questions later, but I think right now we have other pressing matters to address.” She trails her index finger down the center of his chest and Mike almost whimpers out loud. “Or do you really want to hear all about my deathly boring flight from Savannah?”

Mike shakes his head.

“I thought not.” She holds up her phone. “Let’s play that song I have for you.”

He shows her how to connect to his wireless speakers, and soon he hears the familiar opening notes of Ciara’s “Body Party”. Mike huffs out a laugh. “You always find Tito’s favorites,” he says ruefully.

“The man has style,” Rome drawls, and her eyes fucking _rake_ over Mike, as bold and intimate as if she’d put her hands all over him. Mike clenches his jaw and stands very still, waiting.

She walks up to him casually, as if she has all the time in the world, her hips swaying in time with the music. “I want you to know how pleased I am that you listened to me,” she says. “You didn’t have to.”

“But I did,” Mike says. He adds, softer, “You know I did.”

Rome smiles sweetly and touches his cheek, just a light caress of fingertips. “I know, baby. You’re so good. But there’s still something else I want you to do for me, tonight.”

Mike tries to lean into her touch, but Rome pulls her hand away at the last second. He bites back a groan. “Anything,” he whispers.

“I won’t make you go that far. I just want you to dance for me.” She steps back and spreads her arms wide, like the room is her club and she’s gesturing to her queens. Mike can almost see the microphone in her hand.

But there’s only one queen tonight.

Mike watches her settle into his overstuffed leather recliner and neatly fold her legs as she starts the song over. It’s different now, with Rome here in person, in his living room, instead of trapped behind a tiny phone screen. He’s suddenly fucking _nervous_ like he hasn’t been in years, his heart pounding and legs shaking. 

She looks up at him from under her lashes and crooks a finger at him.

Instantly, his nerves vanish. _It would make me happy_ echoes in his mind, soft and reassuring. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Rome’s in control. 

He pushes the coffee table out of the way and kneels on the floor in front of her chair, sliding his hat off and tossing it aside. The song is his favorite kind of beat—slow, grinding, oozing sex. He lets his body melt into the rhythm, never once letting his gaze break from Rome’s. 

He’s hard as a fucking rock, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but the look in Rome’s eyes.

She taps her chin as he skims off his shirt, blinks slowly at way his jeans sit low on his hips. He’s going commando tonight because he hadn’t in a million years thought he’d be giving an impromptu dance for her in person. Mike rolls in close to her, just out of reach, and Rome smiles right as Ciara sings _I’m all yours._

Maybe she put the song on a loop. It feels like he dances forever, _can_ dance forever if Rome asks him to. At one point he climbs the chair like a jungle cat, looming over Rome as his hips swirl to the beat, still not touching. She smiles at him with approval, and Mike swears he could conquer the fucking world in that moment.

His finally shakes his jeans off and his cock bounces against his stomach, but Mike doesn’t touch himself. He knows better. He does, however, spread a hand over his chest and watch the slight shift in Rome’s posture, the way her mouth twitches. Her eyes slide down to his dick.

She mouths _beautiful_ and subtly bites the corner of her lip.

Mike starts to get that floaty feeling again, like he’s slowly crawling out of his body and vaguely watching himself move. Like he only exists within Rome’s gaze, her smiles.

_You’re so good, Mike._

He comes to a stop in front of her, shoulders rising and falling with each shallow breath. A drop of sweat paints a careful, wet trail down the center of his back. 

Rome tilts her head back and looks up at him for a moment that drags on for an eternity. She flicks a finger, points to the floor.

Mike falls to his knees.

“Do you want to come, sweetheart?” she asks.

He whimpers, beyond speech.

“Go ahead, baby, you’ve earned it. Come for me.”

All he has to do is curl his fingers around his cock. He doesn’t even stroke—the touch of his own hand is enough. Mike does more than come; it’s a death and rebirth, a bright explosion of bliss and pain and utter completion, surrounding him, consuming him. His cheeks feel damp as he cries out, voice breaking, gasping for air. Gravity pulls him down, and he braces one hand against Rome’s ankle as come splatters the floor at her feet.

When Mike comes back down to earth, he’s curled in on himself, panting loudly. He realizes he’s crying.

“Jesus fuck,” he whispers. There’s come all over the toes of Rome’s heels. 

“Baby,” he hears Rome say. She slides off the chair to kneel beside him, manhandling his body until she’s wrapped around him, his head tucked under her chin. She kisses his hair, and Mike sighs.

“You’re perfect,” she breathes. “So very perfect. You make me so happy, Mike.”

He shuts his eyes and smiles. 

Yeah. Perfect.


End file.
